


Dungeons & Dragons

by A_Damned_Scientist



Category: Farscape
Genre: Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 10:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7529509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Damned_Scientist/pseuds/A_Damned_Scientist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenage D'Argo Sun Crichton discovers role playing game blobs can be a little icky when they seem to feature your mother as a non-player character.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dungeons & Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SC92 on Terra Firma. The challenge was to have a dragon, a dungeon and a special weapon to slay the dragon. Here is my rather warped take. 
> 
> Setting – about 13-14 cycles post PKW.
> 
> Warnings: Some mild peril (as you might expect) and some low key suggestiveness, tamer than the most the show ever dabbled with.
> 
> Thanks: To Vinegardog for the beta read, nudges and suggestions and to M1812L for the challenge.
> 
> Disclaimer: Farscape isn’t mine and I make no money from playing with the show and characters. All named characters were cleaned and polished and put carefully back in their boxes afterwards.

“You’re sure you don’t mind not coming to the reception?” John Crichton asked his son, D’Argo, as the elder Crichton helped his wife with the final adjustments to her ridiculously overblown formal evening wear before they left: When Dominar Rygel the XVIth threw a state banquet, even such a notoriously gritty and undiplomatic person as Aeryn Sun-Crichton was expected to dress up to the nines and beyond.

“Nah, dad, don’t worry about it,” D’Argo replied in all honesty. What the frell was mom wearing? Was that a… dress? “It’s not exactly like my idea of fun is to spend the evening being polite and bloating out with a bunch of farting Hynerians and assorted po-faced diplomats. Not like I don’t get that every day with you and mom anyway.” He lightened his words with a wink and a boyish smile

To D’Argo’s horror his mom responded by reaching out and ruffling his short-cropped hair. He was nearly 14! When was she going to quit doing that? 

“Any more talk like that and I’ll make you come,” she mock-threatened.

“And maybe sit next to Rygel?” Dad added.

“Aww, mom!” D’Argo protested rather pointlessly. He knew he wouldn’t be going, but since turning 13 he was learning to play along with such games.

No, the truth was D’Argo was more than happy to stay in with his little sister, Joolie, aunty Chi and grandma Noranti tonight. So long as those three females left him alone and allowed him to play with the old, retro game blob he’d picked up earlier that day from some funny little backstreet shop that sold all sorts of cool old-fashioned stuff.

“See you later son. Don’t wait up,” his dad concluded, finally making for the door. D’Argo breathed a huge sigh of relief. The game blob called!

@#@

“Hey squirt, whatcha got there?” Chiana’s unexpected presence at the entrance to his quarters and even more unwelcome question made D’Argo jump with such startlement he was half surprised he didn’t bang his head on the ceiling. Almost habitually he tried to shield the game blob from her eyes. It didn’t work, his furtiveness only serving to draw her attention towards it: “That’s not a porno you’ve got there, is it?” Chiana moved into the room, chuckling with a low throaty growl that did things to D’Argo’s insides that he didn’t yet fully understand.

“No!” he protested, too loudly and urgently to be entirely credible, he suspected.

“Coz if it is, you ought to let your auntie Chi check it out first, check that it’s suitable for a sprout your age,” she continued with a conspiratorial grin, bouncing down uninvited on D’Argo’s bed, one knee folded beneath her.

“Who put you in charge of my stuff?” D’Argo tried to fight back.

 “Better me than... well… You know what your dad’s like… He’d wanna keep it for him and your mom to play with.” She winked. D’Argo blushed.

“Truth is, Chi,” he stumbled to explain, knowing that he’d lost a battle that wasn’t even worth fighting. “I dunno quite what it is. I only got it today. The guy at the shop said it was a great little retro adventure game blob from back in the day, whatever that means.” He held out the multi-coloured, rubbery, hand sized blob towards her to show her that he wasn’t trying to hide anything.

“Looks kinda familiar!” Chi arched an eyebrow, eyes now fixed on the blob. Her hand reached out towards it but paused just a few drenches short, almost as though she were afraid to touch it.

“Thing is, I’m not really sure how these game blobs work…”

“Easy. See this lumpy bit?” Chi closed a finger towards a protruding curve of the blob. “What you do is…”

“Did I hear someone say a game blob!?” Noranti exclaimed, striding into the room, hand in hand with D’Argo’s rather put-upon and bored-looking ten-cycle-old sister, Joolie. “What fun!” Now it was Chi’s turn to startle in surprise. And everything seemed to happen at once: D’Argo felt Noranti’s hand on his shoulder, saw Chi’s outstretched hand jerk in surprise against the blob…

And then, there they all were, all four of them, dressed in the weirdest of outfits, standing in front of what looked like some sort ancient gateway. Grey stone framed a grated metal gate, while black thunder clouds roiled in the air overhead. Through the gateway, the view was even darker – nothing could be seen of the inky blackness inside.

D’Argo guessed they must have accidentally entered the game. Oh well. It was what he wanted, he just wasn’t sure he wanted the jirls along.

“Oh frell!” Chi announced, taking stock of her harlequin outfit and long, fine sword. “Not this again!” D’Argo wasn’t sure what she meant by that, as she didn’t elaborate.

“How absolutely wonderful!” Noranti proclaimed from beneath the pointy, black hat that she now wore, which perfectly matched her long black robes. If D’Argo had known what such a thing was he would have said she looked like a caricature of a witch.

“Rad!” Joolie contributed, pushing a long green cape off of her shoulder to expose a matching green outfit beneath and a bow and quiver full of arrows. Her tone of voice and expression made it clear that she was pleased with her outfit. “Look, I’m Catnip Evergreen!”

“It’s Catni… oh never mind,” D’Argo decided better of correcting her – it never worked for dad with mom, why would it work for him with his little sister? Besides, D’Argo had his own more pressing issues. He felt stifled by the encumbrance of what seemed to be a shiny metal armour outfit and the weight of the huge sword that he now held. At least, he thought that it was a sword: It didn’t look anything like a Qualta blade.

“Shooting makes me feel better,” Joolie pronounced, trying out her bow by shooting an arrow at something random. For someone who’d never used a bow and arrow before, D’Argo had to admit she seemed to be pretty good at it, if she had intended to hit the keystone on the gate, which he guessed she probably had. It was all too much of a coincidence otherwise.

“Great,” D’Argo sighed. “We’re characters in a fancy dress party.”

Chiana shook her head sagely: “It’s one of Yoti’s stupid Stark games by the looks of my outfit.”

“Fine! Whatever!” D’Argo rolled his eyes, not knowing who Yoti was and caring less. “But what the frell are we doing here, exactly?”

At that microt as though in answer, three sounds were heard coming from the dread portal in quick succession:

“Heyulp!” shouted a strangely accented, lispy female voice.

Then there was a terrifying, ground-trembling roar.

Then there was the sound of, possibly the same female, screaming.

“Sounds like aunty Jool’s got another new boyfriend,” snorted Joolie, entirely too precociously for D’Argo’s liking. “Best breakout the earplugs and hide the tableware.”

“No! Someone is in trouble!” Noranti humourlessly announced. “Come on, we must save them!” she added, trying to whoosh everyone through the gateway.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Chiana shook her head and sidestepped Noranti’s guiding hands. “I recognise that…”

“Yeah, we ought to think about this. Work out a plan!” D’Argo interrupted.

“Nonsense!” Noranti tutted. “Where would your father be if he’d stopped to think about things and worked out a plan before rushing headlong into dangerous situations, hmm? Answer me that, young man! Besides, it’s the game. We have to play along.”

While D’Argo was trying to think of a suitable reply to that another ladylike scream rent the air. “Heyulp! Somebuddy! Pleayus! Unhand me you bwute!”

“Come on everyone!” D’Argo sprang into action brandishing his sword as though he were his namesake. “This is obviously all part of the game! We’re meant to save her!”

“But it’s dark in there!” Joolie protested.

“Scared of the dark, little sis?” D’Argo teased before recoiling as she shot him a fair approximation of their mom’s ‘death glare’.

“No. Little. Brother. I was actually wondering how we were going to see where we were going.”

D’Argo hadn’t noticed Chi approaching the gate so when the passage inside was suddenly lit up by innumerable wall sconces bursting into flame he was somewhat taken by surprise.

“How’d you do that?” He asked Chi.

“Old earth trick,” Chiana winked. “Called a light switch. There’s generally one just inside every door way.”

Furrowing his brow and shaking his head at this strange turn of events he followed the spritely Nebari through the gate and into the fortress beyond. Even Chiana, despite her reservations, seemed resolved now to get on with the game. What else was there to do, after all?

@#@

“Up or down?” D’Argo asked, confronted with two closed doors, one labelled ‘The Dungeon’, the other labelled ‘The Tower’.

“Down’s very nice,” answered the door handle on the door labelled ‘The Dungeon’. To a group almost entirely unfamiliar with Alice In Wonderland a talking door handle was something of a surprise.

“Mmm,” D’Argo rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb, deep in thought about the correct etiquette for dealing with a chatty door. It just didn’t seem right to grab its nose and twist. “Maybe we should go up?”

“Or down?” the door handle persisted.

“Up it is then,” D’Argo stated, trying to ignore the fixtures and fittings.

“Yes, but have you considered all of the possibilities that down might offer you?”

“Like what?” D’Argo snapped back, unable to ignore the handle any longer.

“Well, umm…” The door handle paused to consider this question, but only for a microt. “There’s the dungeon. The oubliette. The torture chamber.”

“Those sound like the sort of places we should be looking for Aunty Jool,” Joolie sniggered. Noranti and Chiana weighed in with more serious nods of agreement.

“OK, down it is,” D’Argo threw up his hands, and sighed, wondering what sort of weird, twisted imagination could be behind a game where the door handles gave directions. He seized the nose of the thing and twisted, causing it to cry out. D’Argo ignored it. “Come on everyone, follow me!” he ordered in an attempt to wrest back some sort of leadership of his motley party.

@~@

“A kitchen! How absolutely delightful!” Noranti announced as the spiral staircase opened sideways into what seemed to be a kitchen while also continuing downwards on the other prong of the fork.

D’Argo ignored her at first: It was obvious to him that down was where their destiny lay. He only paused when Noranti headed into the kitchen.

“Noranti!” he protested. “What the frell are you doing?”

“You youngsters can run along and get on with your silly quest thingy. I’ll stay here and cook you all up something special and in the genre for when you are done.” She grinned broadly, already running excited fingers across pots pans and assorted unmentionable and unidentifiable ingredients.

“No we stick together!” D’Argo’s words only elicited an indulgent eye roll and smile from the old witch.

“There’s nothing as important as a good, home cooked meal. You’d be as well to remember that,” she gently scolded.

“Yeah, but now is not the time!”

“Was that a scream I heard?” she lifted her hand to her ear then waved it at them as though to woosh the youngsters away. “No time for you to waste, hurry along now, and don’t forget to come back and tell me how you all got on!”

D’Argo rolled his eyes in despair. If the old witch insisted in playing her own culinary games, what could they do? But he was sure that this room was merely a diversion. He led his diminished party down, deeper towards the dungeon.

@~@

D’Argo held up his hand to signal a pause as they reached the bottom of the staircase.

“Aye shayull nevuh give you what you wayunt, you BWUTE!” the lispy female voice was heard to proclaim defiantly from somewhere nearby.  D’argo craned his head around the doorway to peer inside.

There, bound, spread-eagled to some sort of frame, tied by wrist and ankle, was The Damsel. Her once-opulent blonde updo was now hanging dishevelled and loose on one side, but that was just as well, as her ivory dress was even more dishevelled, torn in several places, rent presumably by the claws of her beastly captor. The garter of an ivory stocking clad thigh could be seen through the longest tear to her skirt, whilst her tumbling locks fortunately served to provide that degree of modesty to her bosom which her ripped bodice could no longer provide. Apart from her clothes, hair and demeanour there was something about her that reminded D’Argo of his mother. Maybe it was her face? He had no time to think about it. There were other more important priorities.

There, looming over her with obviously nefarious intentions was her captor: a hideous reptilian beast which vaguely resembled a Scarran, in a similar way that a large domestic tabby cat might be said to vaguely resemble a young tiger. If D’Argo had been his father he would have recognised the creature as being a dragon.

“I shall take what I wish!” the monster growled, its voice so deep that it made the very flagstones beneath their feet shake. It reached out a viciously clawed hand towards the captive damsel, who gasped and squirmed in terror.

D’Argo and Chiana sprung forward as one, swords drawn, to engage the monster in a melee and save his prisoner from her unspeakable fate.

In a few bounds they reached the monster, whereupon D’Argo swung his larger, more threatening weapon to little effect, save drawing the creature’s attention. However, his actions were not entirely in vain, for they allowed Chiana to dart in and deliver one, two, three strikes with her more precise epee.

“Oh my!” The Damsel blathered as the fight moved around her. “A knight in shining armour, come to save lil’ole me!”

As they fought the beast, a clutch of arrows shot past, finding their mark and decorating the dragon’s scaly hide like pins in a pincushion.

“How WOMANTIC!”

Enraged, a mighty blast of flames bellowed from the creature’s mouth. Joolie rolled aside just in time, managing to escape with just a lightly singed ponytail. Unfortunately her bow was not so lucky – it now lay in ashes on the floor!

“Well, that’f going to leave a nasty scowach mark!”

Chiana took advantage of the moment to lunge in once again, this time her blow found its most delicate and vital mark yet. The beast howled and backhanded Chiana before she could withdraw, sending her flying across the room. Out of the corner of his eye D’Argo could see her moving, but she did not get back to her feet.

“She should get that feen to, befowa it ftings!”

So, now it was just D’Argo and the Dragon!

“Fave me! My Hewo!”

Except, despite his many wounds, the Dragon still had the better of young D’Argo. The boy found himself beaten back towards the wall as blow after blow fell upon his armour and sword. So far he seemed unhurt by the creature, but surely it was just a matter of time!?

“Oh well, I heya that dwagonf make exfellent wavishers…”

D’Argo’s back was against the wall now, his knees folding as the giant, injured and enraged beast attempted to get past D’Argo’s crumbling defences.

D’Argo gasped, wondering what happened when you lost in a game blob. Lost as in died. Did it hurt? Could it kill you for real? What would mom say?

“And I was THO looking fowad to wewading you…” The Damsel pouted sadly, seeming to sense D’Argo’s end was near.

Just as D’Argo was sure that he would find out what dying in the game was like, a loud, sonorous clang sounded. D’Argo saw Noranti step away from the giant lizard, clutching a large cast-iron frying pan in her hand as though it were some sort of magic weapon. The Dragon’s knees wobbled. His eyes crossed. His tongue lolled. He staggered a few steps into the centre of the room where his legs buckled and then he collapsed. A wisp of smoke curled from his nostrils and he breathed his last.

“Hmm!” Noranti sniffed and nodded sharply once in satisfaction, spinning the frying pan in her hands as she surveyed her handiwork. She ran a finger along the pan surface, licked the tip then nodded emphatically. “Needs more ginka-root!” she exclaimed enigmatically, before turning on her heel and marching back towards the kitchen. “Just remember, young man, every game has its ‘cheats’!” she sort of explained, calling back over her shoulder as she left.

“Well, that wasn’t weird,” Joolie snarked from somewhere nearby.

By now Chiana was standing again, somewhat unsteadily, and staring wide eyed at the departing Traskan’s back, shaking her head in disbelief.

D’Argo scrambled across to The Damsel, allowed his sword to drop to the floor and pulled the knife from his belt to cut her ankles free.

“Can ah hep you fahnd thomeplathe to theath that thword?” The Damsel gasped, her subtext not at all lost on D’Argo, who shuddered  slightly, feeling rather weirded-out by The Damsel and her remarks. She was old! She looked like mom!

“Umm, later?” he clumsily demurred. She really did look a lot like mom. A Lot. An awful lot. Except D’Argo had never seen his mother in such a state of dishabille. He tried not to stare at the expanse of ivory stocking clad thigh which was only inches away from his eyes. He hurriedly finished cutting her ankle loose, stood and began work on her wrists.

“Ah you weally John Cwichton?” The Damsel enquired as he worked on her bonds, bosom heaving in a way that D’Argo struggled not to pay attention to, especially what with how much she resembled his mom. Ewww! Her eyes fluttered and her lips pouted softly as she swooned into D’Argo’s arms. The unexpected weight caused him to collapse back onto his eema, dropping the knife, and she tumbled atop him. Without waiting for a reply she began to caress his face with one hand as she puckered up and closed in for a kiss.

“She looks awfully like mom,” D’Argo heard Joolie sniggering precociously as the facsimile of his mother prepared to employ both lips and tongue.

“I know that! Shuddup!” D’Argo bit back, although further words were cut off as The Damsel claimed his lips. Cholak! Her tongue was EVERYWHERE! As were her hands! Despite himself, D’Argo found it a little arousing. He’d never before experienced attention that was anything like it from any female and his teenage hormones were trying, and partly succeeding, in putting his body on autopilot.

“No! That’s not right!” D’Argo heard Joolie add with exaggerated emphasis as Damsel Aeryn briefly came up for air.

He also thought that he could hear Chiana laughing! “I thought you said this wasn’t a porno?” she cackled.

“Not helping!” D’Argo protested.

“Weyuh gonna be THO happy togethah!” The Damsel batted her long eyelashes at him and ran her hand across his pecs, wiggling into an even better position on his lap. “Oh my! You are a big boy! Ith that a pulse pistol in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?””

“CHIANA!” D’Argo cried in desperation as Damsel Aeryn began to tug at the fastenings of his outfit. She bit on her bottom lip and grinned as D’Argo’s breastplate fell away. “Quick! How the frell do we get outta this game!?”

“How the frell has she got you out of that outfit so quickly?” Joolie smirked back.

“A hard man is tho good to sthind!” The Damsel leered, closing in for Round Two. D’Argo resolved to make his evil sister pay for her teasing later. Just as soon as he got out of his predicament! Some of the Damsel’s long, nimble fingers began tugging at the remaining lacings of her own bodice. Oh Cholak, D’Argo inwardly preyed as her other hand cupped the crown of his head and pushed it down towards her décolletage.

“Don’t tell him!” Joolie cackled. Fortunately for D’Argo, however, Chiana did. Just in time.

@#@

D’Argo tossed and turned in bed. He propped himself up on an elbow and his eyes locked on the small, rubbery, coloured blob that taunted his thoughts and was the cause of his sleeplessness. Or rather the source of the cause of his sleeplessness. His rampaging hormones enquired whether maybe he could go back and play the game again, after everyone else had gone to bed? Just for the adventure, of course. His head told his hormones to go frell themselves. If only The Damsel in the game didn’t look so much like mom: that just made things weird and icky and... He shuddered

“D’ya have a good evening, son?” John asked, sticking his head round D’Argo’s door and causing the younger Crichton to jerk guiltily beneath his red blanket.

“Umm, yeah,” he blurted out. “Me and the girls just played a game. Nothing much.” Frell, he wished he hadn’t told dad that. What if the old man wanted to know more or worse, wanted to play? Or even worse, what if someone told mom what had happened in the game? D’Argo would be mortified. He’d have to speak to the jirls first thing tomorrow, tell them to keep their mouths shut or… or, well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

“Great. OK, sleep well. Mom’ll drop in in a few minutes to tuck you in and kiss you good night,” his dad added, turning to go.

D’Argo was hugely grateful that his dad turned his back at that point, because those last words caused a flush of red-hot embarrassment to flush the younger Crichton’s cheeks. They turned brighter even than the scarlet of mom’s brightest PK dress-uniform. He really would have to have that word with the jirls about not blabbing. He’d be so embarrassed if his parents found out what was in the game, what had happened in the game.

As he listened to his dad’s footsteps receding down the passageway D’Argo threw the game blob away, into the corner where it sat, mocking him. Then he found himself staring at it. Frelling thing. Frelling stupid thing. What the frell was mom DOING in that game, anyhow? Why couldn’t it have been Chi or Jool?

Then, as he stared, a new thought occurred: Maybe he could somehow reprogramme the blob so she looked like someone else? A memory of Jool popped uninvited into his head and he felt his whole body flush with illicit heat. And, when nobody else was around, he’d have to see if he could get to the next level in the game. Hmm, now that was an idea worth exploring…

 

The end

 


End file.
